الشاعر جون كلير

I ne’er was struck before that hour ,With love so sudden and so sweet Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower .And stole my heart away complete

,Just by the wooden brig a bird flew up Frit by the cowboy as he scrambled down To reach the misty dewberry—let us stoop ,And seek its nest—the brook we need not dread

,He could not die when trees were green  .For he loved the time too well  ,His little hands, when flowers were seen  ,Were held for the bluebell 

The morning road is thronged with merry boys ;Who seek the water for their Sunday joys

;The spring is coming by a many signs ,The trays are up, the hedges broken down That fenced the haystack, and the remnant shines .Like some old antique fragment weathered brown